Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
A teen girl even approaches for a burger, and I swear her whole group of friends is watching from afar, as if she’s the only one brave enough to enter the lion’s den. What are they expecting I’ll do? Smear her with ketchup?
I make some small talk, compliment her sturdy boots, and send her off with four burgers.
I turn around at the sound of footsteps, ready to serve the next customer, only to still when I see Prophet watching me from up close. Now that the lenses of hate are off, I can see him for what he is—a cornerstone of this community, a strong leader who has the power to direct my fate, and a handsome man. Some would even say more charismatic than my man. Though if I were to choose between Prophet’s occult Viking look and Road’s rough biker charm, I would always pick the latter.
I’m not blind. I know the Vulture president is the kind of guy one could find on a magazine cover, but there is this spark in Road that I was always drawn to. A dangerous edge, and a mischievous glint in those warm hooded eyes. My chest aches, and I wish to make sure he’s within sight, but I can’t focus on that with Prophet standing right in front of me, so I make myself stay with him.
“Glad you’re wearing the amulet,” he says, pushing forward his chin, and I glance down at the necklace given to me earlier. I can’t say I believe it would do anything, but having it around my neck won’t hurt either, so I guess it’s best if the most important man in Vulture Hollow thinks I’m getting on with his program.
“The ones you have,” I say, gesturing at the collection of pendants resting on his chest. “Do they stand for anything specific?”
Hell’s Butchers would frequently mock Prophet for being into spiritual shit, and the whole club for using occult imagery, but if I’m to become a part of this community, I should know more.
I hit the jackpot, because Prophet perks up and grabs one of the pendants. It’s a crude ivory crow hanging from a long chain with some brown beads in it. “So many things, but this one is my destiny. Brigid foresaw it. I will find a bloodstained white crow and it will be my lucky charm. My key to a good fortune I cannot even imagine.”
Does he really believe this is the question, but if my instincts aren’t fooling me, he does. He wouldn’t have tattooed his body with magical symbols if he didn’t. “So wouldn’t that make… Brigid ‘prophet’?”
He raises his finger with a smile. “No. She just recalled what she heard me say in a trance.”
“I could use some drugs like that today.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, which has to be the first time he’s ever touched me that wasn’t a kick or punch. It’s weird. But maybe… good? Something about its warm weight feels reassuring. “I’m sorry about your home. I don’t love how things developed with you and Road behind my back, but if you are ready to start anew, you are welcome here.”
I turn a burger patty, unsure what to do with such kindness. Do I even deserve it? “I… am ready for change.”
Prophet nods. “Burned land can regain fertility. It’ll be a while, but if you prove your loyalty, we will help you rebuild.”
I want to say something, to react in kind and express how much his help is appreciated, how much Road respects him, but the earnest way he’s looking at me leaves me disarmed. I expected many things from this bonfire, but it wasn’t this. Maybe the Hell’s Butchers had it all wrong, and I missed it, fed by their hate for the Vultures since I was first able to throw a punch?
Had I been a member of this club, could Road and I gotten together much sooner? Of course we would have. He’s like an answer to each of my cravings, and couldn’t be replaced by just anyone. I imagine summers spent by the lake here, first kisses in a hot spring, a fumbling fuck in the caves, and sneaky glances at each other in the canteen.
No point dwelling on that. We would have been different people.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Prophet takes his hand off me to point out a hot dog. “Pass me that one,” he says, but then glances over my shoulder. “Isaac! Come try these. Apparently there’s some secret new seasoning inside.”
Confident, steady strides. I’m curious who this man is, but I don’t want to appear too eager and flip some more meat before turning my attention back to Prophet and the stranger standing next to him in jeans and a checkered shirt with sleeves folded to expose tattooed forearms. He’s a bit older than us, maybe in his forties, and while overall good-looking, he’s not the kind of person who stands out from the crowd. Maybe with the exception of his eyes, which watch me with an intensity most people in Vulture Hollow don’t.